


Petrichor

by pollitt



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 10 in 10, Kissing, M/M, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:49:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollitt/pseuds/pollitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petrichor - The pleasant smell that accompanies the first rain after a dry spell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petrichor

For a being as proper as Aziraphale presented himself to be--something Crowley knew was at least in part a false front--it was always remarkable how uncivilized his sneezes could be. 

“Serves you right,” Crowley says, not even attempting to hide the smug in his voice. “‘It’s just _rain_ ,’ you said. ‘It’s delightful,’ you all but cooed. Well you got to have your little Gene Kelly moment, but which of us is content and dry and _not_ sneezing, and which of us is you?”

“It _was_ delightful,” Aziraphale says, his words dulled around the edges by congestion. “It’s a simple pleasure, to simply stand in the rain.”

“You’re obviously not remembering that first time.” Crowley nearly leaps out of his skin* at the intensity of Aziraphale’s next round of sneezes. “I don’t know why you don’t just make yourself well.” 

Crowley produces a handkerchief from his jacket pocket (without lace edging, thank you very much) and offers it to the angel. The edge of Aziraphale’s damp jacket brushes his hand as he accepts the cloth and Crowley shakes his head. “And dry. For Hea… for _your own_ sake.” 

“It felt good. And who’s to say I’m not content? A delightful--” 

“Angel, I can think of so many other things more delightful than tromping around in a spring shower. Starting with--”

Aziraphale stops him before he can make his first point. And he stops him in a way that Crowley should have, may have, definitely would have listed in his “more delightful than tromping around in a spring shower” list. 

Aziraphale cups Crowley’s face and kisses him. It’s somehow as indulgent as sin and as clean and pure as grace. 

Crowley breathes in through his nose, the smell of the rain fills his senses as he settles his hands on Aziraphale’s waist. The angel’s clothes, he realizes, are now completely dry.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Crowley says, nipping at Aziraphale’s bottom lip.

“You were right.” Aziraphale’s thumb slides over Crowley’s cheek. “Much better than standing out in the rain.”

 

* which was possible to do when you’re of angel (fallen or otherwise) stock. It can be bloody annoying trying to fit yourself back into skin that always seems to somehow be one size smaller.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Mental Floss, for making petrichor a word-of-the-day... which made my _Good Omens_ muses perk up and take notice.


End file.
